


December 23rd, 2006: An Early, Atheist-ish Christmas

by Jane0Doh



Series: The Hand of God [5]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Atheism, Atheist Spencer, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Criminal Minds Universe, Eventual Smut, Lovers Spat, M/M, Off-Camera Fights, Religion, Religious Misunderstanding, Religious Sam, helpful friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-04 05:52:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14586381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jane0Doh/pseuds/Jane0Doh
Summary: The one where Spencer and Sam have a difference of biblical opinions, with JJ and Cas to the rescue.





	1. Chapter 1

_Friday, December 21 st @ 9am:_

“Good morning, Spen—woah!”

JJ stammered, trying to get a word in edgewise as Spencer burst through the office door and grabbed her by the crook of her arm, pulling her along behind him on the way to the conference room. He was a man on a mission, his brow furrowed in pensive concentration and exuding an out of character, decidedly unsettling “don’t fuck with me” vibe that had other, nameless agents ducking out of his way. Casting a furtive glance over her shoulder, Morgan and Prentiss just shrugged haplessly at her, both of them just as confused as she was by Spencer’s odd choice of morning greeting.

Spencer relinquished his hold on her arm the second they were in conference room B, quickly shooing away the two junior agents who had been eating their breakfast at the table and closing the door behind them. Now that she got a good look at him, she could practically taste the tension emanating from him, clear as day in his stiff shoulders and gawky movements as he locked the door and started pacing the room. “Spencer,” she said softly, her hand hovering in the space between them as she reached out to touch him, but thought better of it, “What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

He glanced up at her momentarily, nothing more than a quick flick of his eyes but it was enough that she could see how nervous he was. His brow furrowed and he pursed his lips, his fingers knotting and unknotting in the strap of his bag and her heart bled just looking at him. With a sigh, she took both of his hands in hers and pulled them away, leading him towards the chairs and getting him to sit with little more than a flick of her head. He slumped immediately into the seat, and when she relinquished her grip on his hands he started tapping his fingers incessantly against the arm rests, rocking the chair back and forth on its wheels like some kind of gangly perpetual motion machine.

She was about to ask again when he finally said, “I need your help.”

“I figured,” she smiled affectionately, “What’s wrong? Is Neil being a douchebag again? Want me to go kick his ass?”

That got a laugh out of him, at least. “No,” Spencer said, shaking his head, “Neil hasn’t bothered me since Sam talked to him two months ago.”

“That’d do it,” JJ said, picturing the look on his sleaze-ball landlords face when gigantic, intimidating Sam showed up on his doorstep to stick up for Spencer, instead of one-hundred and twenty pound _her_ , “What seems to be the problem then?”

Spencer’s answer was quiet, murmured under his breath and she had to strain her ears to hear him say, “I need help figuring out what I did wrong.”

“What you did…” she trailed off, not quite understanding what he meant when finally, it clicked. The anxiety radiating off of him, the secrecy as he pulled her into the boardroom and locked the door—Spencer needed help figuring out what he did wrong with _Sam_. JJ frowned, suddenly all the more concerned, “Did you two have a fight?”

She was right on the money it seemed. Spencer groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice muffled behind his palms, and when JJ pulled them away from his face he looked up at her dejectedly, “It wasn’t a fight, per say. There wasn’t any yelling, but if nothing else it was a strongly worded disagreement. And now Sam’s avoiding me and I don’t know what I did! I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out what I said that offended him, but honestly, a lot of what I said could have been misconstrued. I think I’m too close to it, and I need someone with fresh eyes.”

“Someone uninvested,” JJ concurred, leaning back in her seat and tapping her fingernails off the table twice, before nodding decisively, “Okay, start from the beginning.”

“We were sitting at the café yesterday morning,” Spencer recounted after breathing a sigh of relief, his voice distant as he ran through his mental flipbook of crystal clear memories, “and we were talking about Christmas plans. We decided we were going to spend the twenty-third together, since we would both be busy on the actual day of.”

Keeping her cool, despite how badly she wanted to coo over Spence of all people make holiday plans with his new boyfriend, JJ bit her cheek and nodded silently.

“He told me about how he’d never celebrated until he moved in with his foster parents. I told him about my mom’s propensity for celebrating the winter solstice instead of Christian _Christmas_ ,” he paused to take a breath and JJ continued nodding along, so far so good, “And then I mentioned how it was lucky neither one of us really bought into the silly religious inclination of the holidays.”

Oh no, JJ thought ruefully, and her expression must have shifted dramatically, because Spencer huffed, tilting his head quizzically, “What? What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. Maybe something. I don’t know, it depends,” she added, her stomach clenching in second-hand discomfort as she asked, “What happened next?”

“Sam told me that he didn’t think the religious aspect of the holidays were silly at all, and when I expressed my confusion, when I asked if he really thought it was reasonable to believe that the son of some invisible deity was born to a human woman in the same period of time as the winter solstice, when pagans originally celebrated—”

“He’s religious,” JJ interrupted, finishing for him.

Spencer shrugged helplessly, “Sort of?” He floundered for a moment, flexing his fingers in the air as he searched for the correct turn of phrase, “He’s not any particular denomination, but he said he believes in god.”

“And that’s a problem?” Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline and she gasped indignantly, giving him a firm shove to the knee, “Spencer, you’re better than that! You’ve never judged someone poorly for being religious before, why would you start now? You like this guy, he likes you, is this really something worth fighting over?”

“No, its not!” Spencer ran a hand over his mouth, “I didn’t. I’m fine with it, and he understood that I didn’t have a problem with him believing in god. I was just confused. He’s a man of science, and he knows better than anyone the finality of death. I just don’t see how someone who bears first hand witness to death every day, to tragedy, who watches children die and good people suffer can believe in a greater power.”

Oh _no_. “You didn’t tell him _that_ , did you?”

Spencer frowned at her, studying her perplexedly for a moment before nodding his ascent.

“Spencer!”

He yelped as she reached out and jabbed him in the knee again. “Stop that!” he groused, smacking her hand away when she went to do it again, “What?”

“ _That’s_ why he’s mad at you!”

“Because I asked him for clarification?”

“No,” with a groan of frustration, she slapped a hand over her eyes, praying for strength, “because you insinuated that it was ridiculous for him to believe in god, and used in your defense all of the reasons he _does_.” Spencer still wasn’t getting it, was still staring at her blankly, so she tried another tack, “He needs to believe in a higher power, because if he didn’t believe there was a reason for all of it, he wouldn’t be able to do his job.”

Spencer snapped his jaw shut, his teeth clacking together with the force of it and his expression paling as he finally got it. “Oh no,” he murmured, looking absolutely mortified, “Oh, JJ I didn’t mean it like that! I wasn’t trying to be insensitive, I just thought—”

“Okay, slow down before you start spinning out,” she said, holding her hands up as a physical reminder for him to _stop_ panicking, “you can fix this. You just need to apologize.”

“How?” The look Spencer shot her was dismal.

“You’re supposed to be seeing each other on the twenty-third, right?”

Scoffing, Spencer shook his head and looked away, “I haven’t heard from him since, he hasn’t returned any of my calls… I think its safe to say our plans are off.”

“No, they’re not,” JJ said, shuffling closer and leaning on her knees, beckoning Spencer closer, “because _we’re_ gonna fix this. Okay?” Spencer hesitated, practically vibrating with nerves and she had to stop herself from making a big deal out of how freaking _cute_ he was when he had a crush on someone, because she knew that would shut him down in a heartbeat. They were here in a dark, empty boardroom for a reason: he trusted her with his relationship, with a part of his personal life he didn’t feel comfortable sharing with anyone else. So instead, she caught his eye and asked again, “Okay?”

After a lengthy pause, Spencer nodded.

Grinning widely, JJ put on her game face as she began to deliberate, “Now, here’s what we’re going to do…”

_Sunday, December 23 rd @ 6pm:_

“You should call him, Bullwinkle.”

Staring out the passenger window of Cas’ crappy old Lincoln Continental, Sam hardly heard him speak at all. He was entranced by the snow falling in thick sheets around them, obscuring the glow of the stop light as it switched from red to green, was to busy listening to the steady click of the turn signal to notice Cas was awaiting his response.

“Hey,” Cas tried again, taking one hand off the wheel and poking Sam in the side with one sharp finger, immediately returning to ten-and-two afterwards, like the responsible boy-scout he was, “You can ignore me all you like, but just remember we’re in an enclosed space and I live with you. I know how to annoy the crap out of you.”

“I’m not ignoring you,” Sam said, sitting straight in his seat with jerky, uncomfortable movements, his shoulders stiff from being slumped against the window, “I just didn’t hear you.”

“Well, I could hear _you_ ,” Cas said, turning onto a side street and squinting out the windshield as the snow and lack of streetlamps masked the road, “I can still hear the gears turning in that big head of yours, so spill it. Why aren’t you talking to him? You know you want to.”

Sam sighed heavily, “I know. I shouldn’t have been so short with him, he didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Exactly, so why are you punishing not only him, but yourself, by avoiding him?”

“I’m not avoiding him,” Sam protested, and when Cas shot him a baleful look out of the corner of his eye he repeated, “I’m not. I just needed some time to cool off, and then work got busy, and—”

“Work _always_ gets busy, that’s not stopped you before.” Slowing down to a crawl at a stop sign, Cas looked over at Sam with his eyebrow cocked, “You’re just nervous he’s going to ask questions you’re not ready to answer, so you’re pushing him away.”

“No,” Sam said, and when Cas opened his mouth to object he cut him off, “No, for once you’re wrong, Cas.”

“Then why won’t you call him?”

“He basically told me it was stupid for me to believe in God, and then tried to convince me why!”

“So?” Cas shrugged in response to Sam’s disbelieving huff, “You _know_ he’s an awkward, socially stunted little goober, its part of why you like him! He was bound to say something insensitive eventually and judging by how desperately he’s been trying to say he’s sorry, he knows it, too. Why won’t you let him apologize?”

 _Because_ , Sam thought, the words hovering on the tip of his tongue, _if he can’t accept something as simple as this, how the hell is he going to take it when I tell him about my dad?_

Instead, what he said was, “You’re right.”

He had to call him.

He wanted to.

He really did miss him.

He just didn’t want to have the discussion that was certain to ensue.

“Damn straight,” Cas said, grinning in victory, “and with that—” he pulled to a sharp stop outside their apartment, “get the hell out of my car.”

“You’re not coming in?”

Cas shook his head, “I need to pick up Jack. He had a group project to work on tonight.”

“School on a Sunday?” Sam winced, kicking open the door and immediately regretting it, snow buffeting him and coating the leather seats.

“I know, it sucks. We’ll be home later, get out and close the door!” Helped along by Cas’ hand on his back, shoving him out of the car, Sam slammed it shut behind him, waving through the window. He turned, walking up the drive to his building when he heard Cas honk behind him. Glancing curiously over his shoulder, Cas had the window rolled down as he slowly drove past, calling out to him, “Call your boyfriend!”

“Yes, Mom!” Sam shouted back, chuckling when Cas flipped him the bird and sped off, his muffler sputtering loudly amidst the eerie silence of their street.

Shoving his hands in his pockets as he darted inside, Sam pulled out his phone and immediately flipped it open, frowning at the missed call notifications that started the evening of the 20th and abruptly stopped yesterday. He figured Spencer either got sick of trying, or figured Sam needed some time away from him, both thoughts that made his stomach twist with guilt.

He never meant to make Spencer feel bad, and he knew that, deep down, Spencer wasn’t being malicious by telling him his belief was strange. It was true, on more levels than Spencer realized. He was a doctor, he knew there was no magic in the universe. There was no invisible, bearded man in the clouds, no firmament in the sky and no life after death. He confronted death daily, and he knew its finality. It was a hard line in the sand. A harsh, ugly reality and once you were gone, that was it. Your brain ceased to function and who you were died with it.

But somehow, Sam also believed in the existence of the soul and he held to that belief his whole life. As pertinent today as it was when he was a child, he needed to believe that there was something better waiting for the soul of that little girl he’d seen today, who after countless rounds of chemo was told she only had months to live. He needed to trust that the patient he’d lost to spontaneous heart failure last week had something to look forward to once he died. He had to hope that there was a reason behind all of it, or else he would go under.

It started with his dad, as everything that made him who he was did. After all, you couldn’t believe in the devil without also believing in God. And once he learned who his father was and what he did, instead of erasing what little faith he had (like Dean), it only bolstered his belief that something or someone out there had a plan. Because if they didn’t, then all of the harm his father caused, and all of the guilt he felt for not stopping him sooner, would be completely without meaning. Wholly irredeemable.

So, Spencer’s insinuation hurt and Sam took it to heart, not only because he didn’t feel he needed to explain why he had faith, but because it felt like Spencer was rejecting a fundamental truth in his life. Even that was unfair though, he realized as the elevator slowly chugged up to his floor. He couldn’t expect Spencer to understand the importance of his belief if he didn’t have all of the relevant information. Sam was just as much to blame for not telling him the whole truth.

Stepping off the elevator, Sam scrolled to Spencer’s number and hit dial, holding his phone to his ear and waiting nervously for Spencer to pick up. The hallway was empty as he strolled slowly towards his front door, quiet aside from murmuring voices in neighbouring apartments, and the ringing of someone’s phone filtering out into the corridor. Three rings in, he’d just managed to get his key in the door when Spencer picked up, and as he pushed into his apartment he heard Spencer’s shy “Hello, Sam,” both through the receiver and in his living room. Still holding his phone to his ear, Sam let the door slip shut behind him, his mouth agape as he stepped into his apartment and took in the state of his living room.

Kevin and Sam went home for the holidays, so neither of them ever decorated before. It seemed a waste if they were going to be in different parts of the country come Christmas morning, and while Cas used to decorate, Jack convinced him to pull back on it last year with a PowerPoint presentation, to reduce the amount of trash and plastic they threw away. Ecstatic that his little brother was following in his manic hippy footsteps, Cas agreed wholeheartedly, and that had been the last year they wrapped presents, exchanged gifts that came in an excess of packaging, or anything that wasn’t second hand.

(Jack was still working on getting Cas order less take out, but that was an uphill battle Sam did not envy him of.)

So, it came as quite a surprise to find his apartment completely, if chaotically, decked out for the holidays. Sam stared speechlessly at the cute, slightly wilted little Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, haphazardly decorated with what looked like a mix of heirlooms and dollar store ornaments. There was a little pile of poorly wrapped gifts under the tree, multiple garlands stacked on top of one another along the mantle of the fireplace, and candles flickering in various holiday themed holders scattered around the room.

There was a fire roaring in the hearth, one Sam didn’t even know was functional until right that second, and sitting on the couch in front of it, his feet kicked up on the coffee table and an open book in his lap was Spencer. He was staring over his shoulder at Sam, his expression pensive, torn between excitement and nervousness as he watched Sam stroll into the room, his gaze flicking from each new addition before landing on Spencer.

Wearing an old pair of sweatpants, mismatched holiday themed socks and a well-worn FBI cadet T-shirt, Spencer looked so at home in Sam’s space that it sent a hot spike of gratuitous affection surging through him. His hair tucked behind his ears, glasses perched low on his nose and a stack of technical books (that he’d most certainly already read) on the couch beside him, Spencer looked like he was right where he was supposed to be, and Sam mentally kicked himself for being such a stubborn asshole. _If you messed this up_ , he silently chastised, _then you’re a freaking idiot_.

He cleared his throat and sat down next to Spencer, who hurried to move his books out of the way, placing them next to the open bottle of wine on the coffee table. “How, uh—” he looked around, gesturing to the plethora of decorations, “How did you manage to do this?” Sam frowned, “How did you get _in_?” His eyes narrowed, “How did you find where I live?”

Ducking his head and looking only mildly ashamed of himself, Spencer replied, “I got the address from the hospital after I showed them my badge. And then, after accidentally running into Cas, he gave me his key and told me to go nuts. He said he’d work it out with Kevin to keep you in the dark, and that they’d give us some time to talk.”

“You met Cas?”

“Yes,” Spencer said, furrowing his brow, “He’s a very helpful person.”

“He’s a very _nosy_ person,” Sam corrected, but he couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he admonished Spencer, “and _you_ should only use your bureau powers for good, you little sneak.”

“This _is_ something good.” Curling his legs up underneath him, Spencer looked at Sam expectantly, a childlike eagerness in his smile, “Do you like it? I can't take all of the credit, it was JJ's idea to surprise you.”

Unable to help himself, Sam reached out and threaded his fingers through Spencer’s hair, leaning forward and kissing him on the forehead as he mumbled, “I’m so sorry.”

“What do you need to be sorry for?” Spencer tilted his chin up, “I’m the one that needs to apologize, I was a complete heel. You are allowed to believe whatever you want, and I should never have put you in the position of needing to defend your faith. It was insensitive and boorish, and I’m incredibly sorry.”

“But I should have talked to you about it. Instead, I acted like a jerk and shut you out,” Sam said, adding as Spencer shook his head to the contrary, “I knew you didn’t mean anything by it, but I can’t really explain why my faith is such a touchy subject.”

“Why not?” Spencer asked, and Sam’s stomach clenched at the question, his palms already starting to sweat.

Cas’ voice echoed in his ear: “ _You’re just nervous he’s going to ask questions you’re not ready to answer, so you’re pushing him away.”_

God, why did he always need to be right?

Sam wished he could just drop the subject, turn his attention to the decorations and try to distract Spencer from his line of questioning, but he knew it would be a futile effort. And he’d already discovered he neither wanted to, nor could, push Spencer away, the other man’s tenacity something to be admired. Hell, he’d enlisted the help of his friend and used his powers as a federal agent to break into and decorate his house by way of apology… he’d hate to see what Spencer could do if he felt he wasn’t in the wrong. Besides, Sam had never wanted to end things or keep any distance between them at all.

He just didn’t know how to have this conversation.

And as he started counting out the tapping of his foot on the ground, two, four, six—he didn’t think he could.

“I…” Sam trailed off, his mouth suddenly dry, an itch spreading beneath his skin that was urging him to check _your salt lines, strip the weapons, keep them in working order, have you reinforced the sigils, do you want us to be murdered in our sleep, what’s_ wrong _with you, you stupid—_

A hand came down on his knee that wasn’t his and stilled him instantly. Spencer was staring up at him, not a lick of anger in him, just concern as he stroked Sam’s knee with his thumb. “Is it about your dad?” Spencer asked, proving to Sam once again that he was born to do his job.

Sam nodded.

“Then you don’t need to tell me,” Spencer decided, “If it hurts you to say it out loud, I won’t ask you to. But I need you to promise me something, alright?”

“Anything,” Sam said reverently, hardly believing that he could be real. He would agree to anything Spencer said in that moments, awed that they weren’t yelling, that there was no fighting, nothing being thrown out the window or shattered against a wall. Spencer wasn’t Ruby, he reminded himself, clapping a hand down on top of Spencer’s, repeating, “Anything.”

“You need to talk to me.” Spencer flipped his hand, lacing their fingers and tugging gently, bringing Sam’s gaze up from their joined hands to look him in the eye, “And no more lying. Sam, I am trained to sniff out a lie, and you are _horrible_ at hiding the truth.” One look at his confused expression, and Spencer clarified, “The morning after you told me about your OCD, you lied to me. You told me there was nothing else you needed to tell me, when clearly there was, and now look where we are. All of this could have been avoided if you’d just mentioned there was something else, but you weren’t ready to talk about it yet. If you’d just told me what to avoid speaking on, what is triggering for you, I might have avoided offending you to the point where you felt you needed to stop seeing me.”

“I didn’t—” Sam tried to protest, but his heart was in his throat, clawing at him with guilt as it sunk in that Spencer had been seeing him, trusting him this whole time knowing that he was willfully keeping a secret from him, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Spencer said, sliding closer, their knees bumping together as he cupped Sam’s cheeks with both hands, “Just don’t lie. If you aren’t ready to tell me what it is that happened to you as a child, that’s perfectly alright. But tell me that much, at least. Don’t pretend nothing’s wrong when clearly, something is. I can’t live with that.”

Spencer’s thumbs stroked over his cheekbones as Sam’s eyes misted over, nodding in agreement before diving forward, pressing his forehead to the side of Spencer’s throat and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “I promise I’ll tell you,” Sam mumbled against his skin, and Spencer held him back with just as much tenacity, “I promise I’ll get there, I just can’t—not right now. But I’m not going to lie to you again, I’m so sorry—”

“Stop that,” Spencer said, running his hands soothingly up and down Sam’s back, “No more apologies, alright? It’s Christmas.”

Sam huffed, “It’s December twenty-third.”

“It’s _our_ Christmas,” Spencer said, kissing Sam’s temple before pulling away and hopping off the couch, making his way towards the tree and picking up a single, gift wrapped box, “and you’ve got a present to open.”

Wiping his nose on his sleeve, Sam smiled and shook his head. “One second,” he said, darting off towards his room and grabbing the box he’d left sitting beside his bed. Spencer was already sitting when he returned, perched in his spot on the couch with Sam’s present in his lap and a glass of red wine in hand, and when he spotted the box Sam was holding, he smiled broadly.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Of course I did,” Sam interrupted, taking his gift from Spencer and replacing it with his own, “It’s Christmas, right?”

Spencer waited patiently, sipping his glass of wine as Sam tore open his box, chuckling when Sam pulled out a set of insoles for his shoes, an insulated coffee mug and a set of earplugs. “That’s all from CVS, I needed to fill up the box,” Spencer said with a shrug, waving him on, “Your real present is at the bottom.”

It was a book (because of course it was): Ernest Hemmingway’s _A Moveable Feast_ , and Sam immediately began flipping through it, having been the originator of this game of theirs. There was a single highlighted passage, reading “We would be together and have our books, and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Sam ducked his head and chuckled. “You’re too much,” he said, running his fingertips lovingly across the raised letters of the page, “Spencer, this is wonderful. I love it, all of it.”

“Even the stuff from the drug store?”

“Especially that,” Sam said, pouring himself a glass of wine and setting his presents down on the coffee table, “It reminds me of the only time Dean and I celebrated Christmas.”

As he tapped his finger twice against his glass, he noticed Spencer watching him cautiously, midway through a sip. It was as if he’d sucked all the air out of the room in one fell swoop, and Spencer sat silently, waiting to see if Sam was actually going to let him in on one of his childhood memories, or if he was going to change the subject. And as much as Sam would rather avoid telling Spencer much about his life growing up at that point in time, this memory was more or less harmless. No ghouls or ghosts in sight, once John Winchester left the motel room at least, and it was actually one of Sam’s happier ones.

Yes, he decided, he could tell him this one. Spencer had been so cool about him hiding the truth, about not being ready to tell him about his dad. The least he could do was throw the poor guy a bone in the form of one of Sam’s pleasanter childhood memories.

Sidling closer, until they were sitting thigh to thigh, Sam took a long drink of his wine before shooting Spencer a bolstering smile. “When I was six and Dean was ten, dad left us alone in a motel in the middle of Arizona for a week straight. Nothing new there, only this time, it was Christmas. He’d never been gone on Christmas before.”

Spencer leaned his head back against the couch, his eyes fixed on Sam’s but his countenance seemed to relax as he let himself get caught up in Sam’s story. He toyed with the stem of his glass, holding it in two hands in the center of his crossed legs, and he nodded, urging Sam on.

“We decided,” Sam paused and corrected himself, “ _Dean_ decided, since dad was the one who hated Christmas and he wasn’t around that we should celebrate that year. We had his credit cards and no adult supervision, and Dean was my hero when we were younger, so I thought it was the best idea ever.”

“What did you two do?” Spencer asked, an affectionate smile spreading across his face.

“First we needed a tree,” Sam said, counting it off on his fingers, “So we went down the street to a lot, with Dean hyping me up, telling me all about this awesome tree we were gonna get. But it was Christmas eve, and when we got there, the only trees left looked like—”

Spencer pointed to the wilted little tree that stood in the corner of the apartment, “Like that one?”

“Exactly,” Sam replied, capturing Spencer’s hand when he tried to pull it back, bringing it up to his lips and kissing each of his knuckles, “and the guy who owned the lot was trying _so_ hard to keep us from being disappointed. He thought we were orphans or something, and he thought all those pathetic looking trees would just ruin our Christmas, but he didn’t realize that it was our first Christmas tree. Dean and I loved it, as dead as it was, and the guy ended up giving it to us for free.”

“That was really nice of him,” Spencer said.

Sam nodded, “It was. It was also necessary, because as we found out when we went to the Gas n’ Sip up the road, all of dad’s cards were maxed out. We had this whole pile of stuff on the counter, candy, sodas, decorations and random gifts, but every card came up declined.”

“Did the cashier pay for the two of you?”

“No. The man behind up in line did, though,” Sam said, remembering the older gentleman who had stopped them on their way to put everything back, “he said he reminded him of his kids, and he even gave us enough money to get some frozen dinners. When we got home we wrapped everything up in news paper and pretended to be surprised when we unwrapped our gifts. We had a tree and a hot meal…” Sam smiled, squeezing Spencer’s hand, “It was a good night.”

Spencer squeezed back, “Sounds like it.” 

Nudging Spencer’s knee with his own and relinquishing his hand, Sam pointed to the small box in his lap, “Your turn.”

Gingerly ripping the corners of the wrapping paper and sliding the box out, Spencer broke out into giggles the moment he cracked the box open, tossing his head back with a smile. “Thank you,” he stammered out in between, flipping through the pairs of socks in the box, all of them gaudy and arranged into mismatching pairs. He leaned over and kissed Sam on the cheek, murmuring, “I love it.”

Turning his head at the last second, Sam caught his lips with his, his heart skipping a beat as Spencer sighed softly, instantly leaning into him and deepening the kiss. Heat roiled in his gut at the lightest brush of their lips, and Sam marvelled at how, with only a few days apart, he was already hungry for him. His body was straining against decorum to press Spencer into the couch and kiss him until he couldn’t think in words anymore, until he got that adorably dazed look on his face and all he could do was moan Sam’s name.

Spencer seemed to have the same idea, however, as he quickly placed his glass of wine on the coffee table, dropping his weight backwards until he was lying flat on the couch, pulling Sam down on top of him. Settling into the spread of his thighs, Sam wasted no time shoving his hands past the hem of Spencer’s tee, getting his palms on that soft, warm skin and thrilling at the noises he coaxed out of Spencer every time he nibbled at his lush lower lip.

“When did Cas say he’d be back?” Spencer murmured against his mouth, and Sam grumbled, nipping at his chin. The last thing he wanted to think of at that moment were Cas and Jack, not when he had Spencer spread out beneath him, his half-hard cock pressing against Sam’s stomach through his sweats and his sweet lips right there, ripe for the taking.

“Later,” he replied quickly, silencing any further questions as he slipped his tongue past Spencer’s lips. He squeezed once at Spencer’s lithe waist before dipping under his sweats and cupping his ass, groaning in appreciation when Spencer threw his legs around Sam’s hips and tugged downwards, urging him into a leisurely grind.

Neither one of them heard the door click open over the sound of their increasingly harried breathing, nor did they notice when it shut, so absorbed in the feel of each others body as they moved against each other, Spencer’s feet flexing against Sam’s lower back, Sam panting as he sucked on his earlobe. It wasn’t until Sam slid a hand up Spencer’s chest, rolling one of his nipples between his fingers and drawing a high-pitched whine out of the younger man that they were alerted to the presence of other people in the apartment.

Namely Kevin Tran.

“Oh my god!” Kevin squealed, covering his eyes with his hands and darting into the kitchen, “Dude, you have a fucking bedroom, use it! We eat breakfast on that sofa!”

“Relax,” Cas drawled, his hands clapped over Jack’s eyes and was leading him towards his room, “its not like they’re naked.”

“And you shouldn’t be eating on the sofa,” added Sam, glaring at him over the back of the couch.

“Good,” Kevin ignored him, continuing to rant with his back turned to the kitchen window, his voice muffled behind his hands, “otherwise we’d have to burn it.”

“It’s leather!” Jack decided to chime in, shouting past his open bedroom door where Cas had left him, his older brother already walking back into the living room with a shit-eating grin on his face, “You don’t need to burn it, just douse it in alcohol!”

“We’re not diseased,” Sam said, having jumped off of Spencer in record time, helping him to sit up and straighten out his clothes. He mouthed silent apology that Spencer didn’t seem to notice, too busy glancing around the room, trying to determine who he should be addressing his apologies to first.

“You could at least put a sock on the door next time,” Cas said, and with little regard for decorum or personal space, plopped down on the couch right in between them, affectionately ruffling Sam’s hair before turning his attention to poor, flustered Spencer, “Hello, Doctor Reid. I love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Thanks for letting me borrow your key,” Spencer said with a flush, sandwiching himself against the arm of the couch as he rifled in his pocket, placing said key in Cas’ outstretched palm.

“Anytime,” Cas said, smiling, “I think Jack might have something to say about the wrapping paper, though.”

Spencer frowned, looking over Cas’ shoulder at Sam, who answered, “It’s non-biodegradable.”

“He’s been on a bit of a composting kick lately,” Cas said, stretching both of his arms out across the back of the couch and throwing his feet up on the table, “Maybe he’ll be so distracted by dinner he won’t even notice. I haven’t fed him yet today.” He winced, shouting down the hall to his brother, “Come eat something!”

“Leave him alone, he’s taking a shower,” Kevin grumbled, walking into the living room with a beer in hand, kicking Cas’ feet off the table before flopping onto the nearby armchair, “He lives with the three of us, it’s the only privacy he gets.”

“Poor thing,” Spencer said quietly, and when all three of them turned their shocked expressions on him he quickly realized he’d said that out loud. He stammered, covering his mouth with his hand and tried to backpedal, when Kevin broke out into a peal of laughter, clapping his hand on Spencer’s shoulder.

Cas joined him, grinning widely as he turned to Sam and told him, “I like him.”

Spencer was still trying to apologize, but Kevin wasn’t having it. “It’s okay, man,” he said, crossing his legs underneath him and holding out his hand, “I’m Kevin, by the way.”

And just like that, Spencer’s embarrassment was forgotten, tossed aside as he immediately recognized who he was talking to. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Spencer shook his hand fervently, “Sam’s told me so much about you.”

“Yeah, we’ve heard all about you, too,” Kevin said, taking a swig of his beer, “and I seem to remember Sam mentioning something about _three_ doctorates? An IQ of one-hundred and eighty-something? You might be giving me a run for my money.”

“That’s right,” Spencer said, his attention focussed solely on Kevin as Sam and Cas exchanged a knowing smile, “You graduated medical school at twenty-three, right? That’s unprecedented.”

“You’ve got be beat with three PhD’s in the same span of time,” Kevin shrugged, “at least you didn’t need to fight through the hell that is an internship.”

“Oh my god,” Cas threw his head back and groaned, “I swear, it wasn’t that bad! Be thankful you’re moving up your residency and not being told to take a hike.”

“I may not have completed an internship,” Spencer added wryly, “but I did need to go through basic training.”

“You got a free pass through basic,” Sam corrected him, laughing when Spencer shot him a playful glare.

“What’s basic?” Jack asked as he walked into the living room, his bare feet padding along the hardwood floor and towel-drying his hair.

“FBI training,” Cas answered. He gestured between Spencer and Jack, “Jack, this is Sam’s boyfriend Spencer. Spencer, this is my brother Jack.”

They shook hands amiably, and Jack glanced around the room, taking in the plethora of Christmas decorations littering the apartment. He frowned, mentally cataloguing everything that wasn’t there when he left home that morning, furrowing his brow and tilting his head in a way that made him look so much like Cas, it was almost criminal. If he wanted to comment on them though, he decided to bite his tongue, glancing between the four men in front of him as his stomach growled loudly, and he asked, “Is it time for dinner?”

“Yes!” Cas exclaimed, slapping both Sam and Spencer’s knees in unison before pushing himself off the couch. He snapped up the wine bottle from the table and took a swig, darting out of the way as Sam attempted to grapple it back from him, grinning. “I got take out, and there’s enough to feed a small army, so,” he paused, pinning Spencer to the couch with his sharp-eyed stare, “you’re joining us for dinner.”

“Oh, no,” Spencer said, waving his hands in front of him, “I don’t want to intrude anymore than I already have, I—”

“You’re not intruding,” Kevin replied, “and we’re not going to take no for an answer.”

“He’s right,” Sam added, sidling closer to Spencer (now that Cas was out of the way) and placing a reassuring hand on his knee, “they're not.”

“We’ve been listening to Sam go on about you for months,” Cas said, throwing his arm around Jack’s shoulders and leading him towards the kitchen, “There’s no way I’m letting you leave without have a proper conversation with the real thing!”

“I second that,” Kevin said.

“Third!” Jack added.

“So?” Sam asked, turning to Spencer with a hopeful gaze.

“In that case,” Spencer took a breath, pursing his lips and glancing around the room, double checking that he hadn’t overstayed his welcome. But all he was met with were friendly faces, and he finally relaxed, a smile curling at his lips as he said, “I’d love to.”

“Wonderful!” Kevin exclaimed, standing up from his seat and joining Cas and Jack, “I’ve never met another child prodigy before, this should be fun!”

“Can we talk about what you do for the FBI?” Jack asked, popping his head through the kitchen window, “Or is that like, classified?”

“You two are so boring,” Cas groused, but he still reached out and pulled Jack closer, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and catching Spencer’s eye from across the room, his "stern-parent" expression firmly in place, “No gory details. And I want to hear about all the embarrassing stuff Sam’s did before you started dating."

As the three of them busied themselves in the kitchen, Sam took the short moment of quiet to turn to Spencer and ask, “Are you sure you want to stay?” He huffed, grasping both of Spencer’s hands in his, “They’re not going to get any calmer, and I wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to duck out early.”

“Don’t be silly,” Spencer said, shaking his head, “They’re your friends, and while they might be rambunctious—”

Kevin screeched about something from the kitchen, followed Cas and Jack laughing loudly about whatever it was.

“I think I like them already,” he finished, and Sam couldn’t stop from ducking forward and kissing him softly, overwhelmed with fondness and wondering why he hadn’t invited Spencer by sooner.

“Hey,” Kevin shouted across the room, “stop sucking face and come get some grub!”

 _Oh yeah,_ he mused, _that was why._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long and smutty! I hope you enjoy!

Sitting in his tiny apartment with his three roommates, watching them fawn over his boyfriend as he attempted to navigate chopsticks for what appeared to be the first time (though Spencer insisted it wasn’t), Sam was suddenly grateful for Castiel’s mother-hen nosiness. He’d eaten enough Chinese takeaway to last him the rest of his natural born life, he’d finally managed to introduce his weird, ramshackle band of misfits to Spencer and in the process, he’d been learning more about him than he had in the months they’d been dating. So far, it was an amazing early Christmas celebration, and when Spencer looked away from his conversation with Kevin for a moment to glance at him, Sam returned his gaze with a blissful sigh, his stomach doing flip flops.

He really seemed to fit in with them, Sam thought gleefully, and he had no doubt that his friends liked Spencer, too.

Cas nudged Sam in the ribs, leaning over inconspicuously and whispering, “He’s very sweet.” When Sam nodded in response, Cas glanced across the table again, smiling as Spencer started asking Jack about his new school, “Jack seems to like him. He’s actually talking to him.”

“Do you?” Sam asked, taking a bite of his chow mein and already knowing the answer, “Like him, I mean?”

“Of course,” Cas said, jabbing at him reproachfully with his chopsticks, “If you like him, and he treats you well, then he’s already a winner in my books. Add cute, smart and thoughtful to the mix, and you might have had some competition to worry about.”

“Might have?”

Cas bit down on the tips of his chopsticks and grinned slyly, “If I were ten years younger and you weren’t my friend. Besides, cute as he is, he’s not my type.”

“Right, you like stern looking guys who are older than you by a decade, at least.”

“What can I say?” Cas shrugged, “Once a sugar baby, always a sugar baby.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Jack asked, frowning at them from across the table.

“Nothing,” they said in unison. Turning his attention to Spencer, Cas smiled deviously and asked, “Hey, Beautiful Mind, you staying the night?”

Spencer, instinctively responding to his brand new, Cas approved nickname, looked up sharply, his brow pinching together. “I hadn’t thought about it,” he said, picking up a bottle cap from the table and rolling it between his fingers, “I really don’t want to intrude, and you’ve already been incredibly accommodating by inviting me for dinner, I—”

“Stop that, you’re not bothering anyone,” Kevin admonished, though he, just like everyone else at the table, was suddenly fascinated with watching as Spencer made the bottle cap disappear and reappear rapidly in the palm of his hand, “We’re happy to finally meet you, and I’m sure Sam would love it if—” he shook his head, leaning over the table and gesturing to Spencer’s hand, “I’m sorry, how are you doing that?”

“What?” Spencer glanced down, noticing for seemingly the first time the sleight of hand trick he was pulling off as casually as if he were twirling a pen, “Oh, this?” Suddenly aware of what he was doing, he closed his palm around the bottle cap and squeezed, opening his fist to an array of shocked gasps and squeaking chair legs as they all shuffled closer. “It’s just a nervous tic,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his sweater with his other hand and pulling out the bottle cap, displaying it pinched between two fingers for all of them to see, “Believe it or not, I was even more awkward as a kid. Magic helped me to feel confident, so I used to do it in social settings to break the ice. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“That’s so cool!” Jack leaned closer, trying to track as Spencer made the bottle cap disappear again, “Can you teach me? That would really come in handy during exams.”

“Yeah, could you teach it to me to?” Kevin added, and when Sam cast him a curious look, explained, “Think of how great that must be for strengthening finger dexterity!”

“I don’t know how dextrous you need to be,” Spencer said, the cap rolling from his fingers and clattering to the table top almost in demonstration, “I’m a klutz, but I still manage. I know for a fact though that a little sleight of hand can get you through any exam without issue.”

“Hey,” Cas interjected, his stern tone undercut by the good-natured grin stretched across his face, “stop teaching him to cheat. We didn’t work our asses off to send him to a fancy private school just so he can cheat his way to a good grade.”

“You wouldn’t need it anyways,” Spencer said, turning his attention to Jack, whom he’d undoubtedly decided was the least intimidating pseudo-stranger at the table, “You managed to get into Lexington Academy mid-semester on the merit of your GPA alone. That’s impressive, Lexington is a rigorously selective institution.”

“Tell me about it,” Jack rolled his eyes, “I had to go through three separate interviews, four entrance exams, and still needed to play catch up for two months just to get to the level of the other kids.”

“But you did it,” Sam said, smiling as Jack flushed at the praise and looked away, humble to a fault, “and that’s no small feat. I could barely keep up with your readings, and I went through medical school.”

“Do you like it there?” Spencer asked.

Jack nodded, “I do. I was bored at my old school.”

“Then it was worth it.” Coming to the decision for the both of them, Spencer snapped up his wine glass and took a long sip, catching Sam’s eye and shooting him a self-satisfied wink that put him well at ease. Despite admitting the magic tricks were a nervous habit, Spencer seemed relaxed enough to convince Sam he was having a good time, and that was all his overactive brain needed to keep from spinning out.

Spencer was comfortable in his home, comfortable with his friends and comfortable in his life.

It was the best Christmas gift Sam could have asked for.

Mooning over his boyfriend, Sam almost missed his phone as it vibrated in his pocket. It took Castiel nudging him in the side once again for him to snap out of his daze, and he answered it without looking at the caller. It was two days before Christmas, so it was probably Bobby or Ellen, calling to make sure he was coming to visit like they always did. As if he could get away without their annual visit, he thought with a smile, flipping his phone open and saying, “Hello?”

“Ho-Ho-Ho, little brother.”

And just like that, all the energy was sucked out of the room, Sam’s good feelings gone and replaced with unadulterated panic. He could feel himself pale, his heart hammering painfully in his chest as he tried to rationalize his brothers voice over the phone. “H-hi,” he stammered, his voice cracking and both Cas and Kevin looked up at him sharply, their eyes narrowed with concern, “hey, man, it’s good to hear your voice. Can you hold on a second?”

Cas mouthed, “Bobby?” at him, and Sam shook his head.

Kevin’s eye’s widened, and he mouthed “Dean?”

Sam nodded, and Cas waved him away from the table, turning to Spencer and asking, “Do you have any other tricks up your sleeve?”

“Y-yeah,” Kevin added, shifting his seat so his back was to Sam, blocking Spencer’s eyeline with his body, “What else can you do? Have you ever needed to use any of them on a case?”

“Uh, oh, yes actually,” Spencer said, craning his neck to look over Kevin’s shoulder, frowning curiously as Sam backed away from the table, heading for the door to the balcony. Sam pointed to the phone and mouthed an apology, and Spencer relaxed, taking it on the cheek and answering Kevin, “There was a hostage situation on a train a few years ago…”

Stepping out onto the balcony, frigid December air prickling at his cheeks, the instant the door slammed shut behind him, Sam took his hand off the receiver and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“What?” Dean asked, mock hurt in his voice, “Can’t a man call to wish his baby brother a Merry Christmas without getting the fifth degree?”

“I’m not—” Sam clapped a hand over his eyes, dodging Cas’ empty planter boxes and pots on his way to the folding chair in the corner, “No, of course you can. But when you only ever call if you need something, or if you’re in trouble, can you blame me for getting worried?”

“Hey, I resent that. I called you on your birthday, and there was nothing going on then.”

“You asked me to lend you two grand.”

“As a birthday present!” Dean’s boisterous energy was infectious, even through the phone, and Sam couldn’t help but chuckle as he proclaimed, “I gave you the gift of helping me out of a tough spot! Ain’t you into all that humanitarian shit anyways, Mister big shot doctor?”

“I don’t have an issue with helping you,” Sam said, swiping the light dusting of snow off the chair before slumping into it, “I just wish you’d drop the pretense. If you need money, you’ve got it. If you need somewhere to crash, I’m your man. Dean, I’m your brother. I—”

“Yeah, yeah, enough with the chick flick power hour, alright?” Sam listened closely as he heard a car horn blaring over the line. He heard people chattering, and as Dean paused to mutter something to someone on his end, he heard pounding country music filtering in the background. Figures Dean would be spending his Christmas in some road side dive, Sam thought to himself, pursing his lips as Dean attested, “I don’t need anything this time, honest. I just called to wish you happy holidays, and to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m good,” Sam said, not even stopping to think, “I’m great, actually. I’m having dinner with some friends.”

“Kevin and Cas?”

“And Jack,” he said, biting his lip for a moment before adding, “And… someone I’ve been seeing.”

“Atta boy!” Dean laughed noisily, and when Sam closed his eyes he could almost see his face, his boyish green eyes shining with mirth as he razzed his little brother. His chest ached with how much he missed him, and Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes prickling with heat, poorly timed and unwelcome tears threatening to spill over. “What’s her name?” Dean asked, and Sam huffed a surprised laugh, wet with emotion, at his brother’s enthusiasm.

 _“His_ name is Spencer Reid,” Sam said, clearing his throat into his fist and collecting himself, “Doctor Reid.”

“Someone from the hospital?” Dean asked, not missing a beat, “What’s he look like? Is he cute? Prettier than me?”

Sam laughed harder that time. “No, not that kind of doctor,” he said, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, “And he’s adorable. Gorgeous, funny and crazy smart. He broke into my apartment tonight and surprised me by decorating the place for Christmas.”

“Wow,” Dean drawled, his smugness radiating over the line, “I know that voice. You really like this guy, don’t you?”

“I really do,” Sam answered, leaning against the table as he stretched his legs out in front of him, “But enough about me, what have you been up to?”

It was a long shot, Sam knew that before the words were even past his lips. He could tell by the crackling and the quality of their connection that Dean was calling him from a payphone, probably somewhere out in the boonies. It was his MO whenever he got around to calling Sam, either that or a burner, though he liked to save those for honest to goodness emergencies, like when he thought someone was tailing him, or he was being hassled by local authorities. Payphone meant there was no dire issue, so Sam could at least take that as a good sign.

Dean was never going to tell him where he was, though. Not even if there wasn’t any trouble, not even if he was doing well, if he’d managed to put down roots in some town, somewhere in the continental United States. Even in the past, when Sam had needed to wire him money so he could eat or get his footing after needing to bail out of wherever he was staying, he’d done so through a third party. No matter how much Sam begged, pleaded with him to just let him know where he was, how or what he was doing, Dean refused to implicate him any more than he needed to survive.

Nothing about that had changed.

“No can do, Sammy,” Dean said, and Sam deflated, exhaling heavily, “I’m safe, I’m doing alright. That’s all you need to know.”

“Can’t you at least tell me where you are?” Again, a losing battle, but Sam had to try.

“Jesus—” Dean sucked his teeth, and when he spoke again, his voice was harder, more closed off, “Do we need to do this every time I call? I can’t tell you, and you know that. Can’t we just… have a conversation? Like normal people? Can we do that, just once?”

“No, Dean. We can’t. We can’t have a normal conversation because you’re a fucking _fugitive_!”

“That is _such_ an ugly word.”

“What else would you call someone who broke the conditions of their parole the _very next day_ after being released from prison?”

“Sound like someone who doesn’t enjoy being tied down.”

“What about a person who continues to evade the authorities, despite being promised amnesty multiple times, to the point they’re basically promised a prison sentence once they’re finally caught?”

“I’d call that person a resilient son of a bitch who would rather die than be locked up again.”

“That’s the point!” Sam groaned, dropping his head into his hand, “You didn’t need to be, you—you were free and clear! All you needed to do was follow the conditions of your parole for five years, and you wouldn’t need to run. You wouldn’t need to hide. You could have been there, man. For everything. All the missed birthdays, holidays, my graduation—”

“I tried to be there,” Dean interjected, no more levity to be heard in his voice, “you know I tried.”

“Just, please,” Sam was pleading at this point, knowing he was losing him, that any minute now his brother was going to hang up the phone and disappear again, for who knows how long this time, “You didn’t do anything wrong, but you served your time anyways. You were rehabilitated, you made amends, and the courts will see that. They’ll be lenient, I know it.”

“You don’t,” Dean said, barely more than a whisper and sounding a thousand miles away, “You don’t know half of what I did.”

“It wasn’t you,” Sam shook his head, his voice cracking half-hysterically as his grip tightened around the phone, the plastic creaking under the pressure, “It wasn’t you, Dean, it was dad. It was _always_ dad.” When Dean didn’t respond, he tried one last time, “Please come home.”

There was silence, long and drawn out, stoking the flames of Sam’s fruitless hope with each moment that past. But in the end, just like all the times that came before, it was a useless effort.

“Merry Christmas, Sammy,” Dean said, and the line went dead.

“Damn it,” Sam muttered, snapping his phone closed and slamming it down on the table.

His bare arms were numb now from the cold, his breath wafting in hot little clouds from his nose as he steamed in his seat. They’d had this conversation, repeatedly, for the past five years. Since the day Dean broke the conditions of his parole and started living life on the run, it was all they could talk about. Any relationship he’d had with his brother died the day Dean was released from prison, when he found out their dad was on the lamb and no one had any clue where he was.

He’d been fine before that. When Sam had picked him up from prison, clad in ill-fitting, dumpy looking, state provided jeans, Dean had been happy. Excited, even. He was ready to start living his life for the very first time ever. He’d be with his family, up in rural South Dakota, and he’d be able to see his brother whenever he came to visit. He could call him any time he wished. No more communicating through once a month, half hour long, prison monitored phone calls, or sporadic letters that were stolen more often than not by the CO’s on duty. He could work with Bobby, fixing and scrapping cars, or with Ellen and Jo at the saloon. He had possibilities, a future.

But then that night the ATF showed up at their door, flanked by FBI agents who “just wanted to talk.”

They’d heard Dean was released from prison and wanted to know if their father had contacted him yet.

They told him about John Winchester’s miraculous escape from conviction years prior and asked if he knew anything about where his dad might be.

They told him everything that Bobby and Sam had fought to keep from him for ten years, and in one fell swoop, they’d quashed any and all hope Dean had of a normal life.

Sam knew why he was out there, driving from state to state and refusing to come home, because he’d almost done the same thing when he found out about their dad’s escape. If it hadn’t been for losing Jessica near simultaneously, for needing time to grieve instead of seeking revenge, it could just as easily have been Sam searching for their father instead of Dean. And lord knows he’d dreamt of finding him countless times, dreamt of rolling up to whatever fleabag motel he was staying at, breaking into his room and holding a gun to his head, wiping out the blight that was John Winchester with just a squeeze of the trigger.

He understood why Dean wanted to find and kill their father, after growing up with all the harm he could do, after the justice system had failed so spectacularly to contain him. And Sam had gotten off lightly compared to the hell their dad put Dean through. Because Sammy was young and impressionable, and needed to be protected from the demons and the ghouls that went bump in the night, but Dean?

He was the good little solider. Brave, obedient, and most importantly of all, unquestioningly loyal.

So, he knew why Dean wanted to kill their dad.

But he didn’t agree with it.

The balcony door creaked open and Sam sat up straighter, frowning as Jack stepped outside into the night air swaddled in a coat and carrying two brimming mugs of tea. “I figured you might be cold,” he said, taking a seat next to Sam and handing him one of the mugs. Sam took it gladly, cupping it between both of his palms and letting its warmth seep into his chilled skin, focusing on the mug and not Jack for a moment, though he could feel the young man watching him closely. “You can’t make him come home,” Jack added after a long pause, sipping gingerly from his mug.

Perceptive little brat, Sam thought to himself, reaching over and ruffling Jack’s hair affectionately. “I know,” he said, sipping from his own mug and letting the still too hot tea warm him from the inside out, “but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop trying.”

“You shouldn’t,” Jack said, smoothing his hair down absently, while staring out over the balcony rail, the city skyline glimmering like starlight in the distance, “you’re doing the right thing by just being there for him. He’ll come back when he’d ready, what’s important is you keep reminding him that no matter what, you’re there for him.”

“Hey, fifteen-year-old,” Sam waved his hand in front of Jack’s line of sight, drawing his attention back to Sam, chuckling when he dropped his gaze with a shy smile, “you’re too young to be giving me sage advice, no matter how true it might be.”

“Sorry,” Jack said quietly, “force of habit, I guess. I just notice things.”

“And that’s nothing to be sorry for,” Sam said, stretching his legs out in front of him and holding up the mug, “Thanks for the tea.”

“It was Cas’ idea.”

“Of course.” Cas had an obsession, bordering on addiction, when it came to tea. “What are you two doing for Christmas this year?”

Like flipping a switch, Jack’s expression changed from distantly ponderous to actively engaged, smiling excitedly as he recounted what he and his brother were doing in lieu of Christmas festivities. “The same thing we always do,” he said, sounding ecstatic at the prospect of spending the whole day with Cas, “Presents, movies, pizza and ice skating, in that order.”

“Sounds like a blast.”

Jack nodded enthusiastically, “It’ll be nice to have Cas all to myself for once, too.” When Sam quirked his brow, he hastened to explain, “Not that I don’t enjoy hanging out with you and Kevin. Really, it’s been a lot of fun living here with you guys, it’s just—”

“You want to spend some one-on-one time with your brother,” Sam interjected, seeing Jack was getting himself worked up for no reason, “I guess you’ve not been seeing a lot of him recently, have you?”

“No,” Jack said, gnawing at his lower lip and looking back over the balcony, smiling a little more somberly now as he took in Cas’ planter boxes. They were empty now, but come spring they would be full of dirt and seedlings, little plants taking root and preparing to grow into a burgeoning, uncontrollable mess of green leaves and blossoming flowers. “It was just him and me for so long, you know?”

Sam nodded, watching silently as Jack picked at the rim of his mug, collecting his thoughts.

“Even when grandpa was still around, it was still just me and Cas.” Jack laughed softly, tugging at the fraying string of his tea bag, “He took me to school, came to all of my soccer games, my concerts, graduations. He helped me with my homework, talked to my teachers when I was struggling, and no matter how busy he got, every Sunday we’d spend the whole day together.” He paused, as if he weren’t certain he should be saying this out loud, before adding, “I know it probably seems selfish, and I know he’s only working so much so we can afford to send me to Lexington, but I… I don’t know.”

“You miss him,” Sam said with a shrug, “I get it. I’m sure he does, too. That’s not selfish, Jack, it’s normal.” When Jack looked up at him, seemingly unconvinced, Sam shuffled closer with a sigh, leaning across the folding table to look him in the eye, “Look, you’ve gone through a lot of changes this year. With your grandpa passing away, having to sell the house, move in here with us, starting high school, _switching_ high schools, it’s—it’s a lot for anyone to handle, much less a kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Jack mumbled sullenly, and Sam reached over, giving him a good-natured shove in the shoulder, glad when it brought a smile to his face again.

“ _Sure_ ,” said Sam, grinning over the rim of his mug, “regardless of how much wisdom you spout on a daily basis, that’s a lot of shit for someone to go through all at once. No one expects you to be superman.”

“I know, but—”

“Do you want to go to Lexington?”

“More than anything.”

“Would you rather live somewhere else, just you and Cas?”

“No!”

“Then you’re right where you want to be,” Sam decided.

Then Jack said what was really on his mind, so quietly Sam had to strain his ears to hear it, “I just don’t want to be a burden.”

 Sam sat straight up. “You’re not,” he said, nipping that worry in the bud, “Don’t even think that, you’re never a burden.”

“Have you seen Cas lately?” Jack asked, wearing a worried frown that was far too old for him, “He’s constantly tired, he’s been sleeping in later and later, he’s not eating properly. When he’s not at the hospital, he’s at the club, and he’s got these bags under his eyes that seem almost permanent. He’s exhausted and running on fumes, and if it weren’t for me—”

“Okay, enough,” Sam held up a hand to stop him, “that’s enough.”

“But—”

“No buts!”

Jack snapped his mouth shut, simmering in his seat to keep from speaking.

“You’ve gotta stop this shit,” Sam told him, raising a finger when Jack tried to interrupt him again, “first of all, for all intents and purposes Cas is the parent here, and you’re his kid. You don’t need to worry about whether he’s taking care of himself, or what he can or cannot handle. He’s the adult, so he gets to decide that.” When Jack stayed quiet, despite the petulantly argumentative expression on his face, Sam continued, “Secondly, all Cas has ever wanted was to give you every opportunity he never had. He wants you to be able to do whatever you want, to be whoever you want, without restriction. He’s working as hard as he is because he wants to, alright?” Jack nodded silently, and Sam asked again, “Right?”

“Right,” Jack agreed. Sam sighed, sitting back in his seat and drinking from his rapidly cooling mug. But just as he started to think he might have this co-parenting thing down, Jack murmured, “Did you know he’s never dated anyone my whole entire life?”

Sam frowned, “That’s not true, he went on a date with that orderly two weeks ago.”

“Having casual sex with strangers isn’t the same as dating someone.”

“Jesus!” Slapping a hand over his eyes, realizing he was woefully unprepared to have this conversation, Sam groaned, “Okay, I know for a fact you should _not_ be worried about your brother’s sex life.”

“I’m not, I just think it’s odd that he’s never had a boyfriend,” Jack said, shrugging it off as though it were a non-issue, as though it wasn’t something that was eating him up inside, “Fifteen years is a long time to go without a relationship.”

“Well, that has nothing to do with you either, so don’t even start.” Sam clapped him on the knee before standing up and helping Jack to his feet, “Cas is perfectly happy the way he is, and if something was wrong, you’d be the first one to know. You’re his best friend, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Jack grumbled, ducking out of the way when Sam went to ruffle his hair again.

“Sure,” Sam said, picking up both empty mugs and walking towards the door, “whatever you are, you’re a good one, you know that?” Jack nodded with a smile, and Sam gestured towards the door with his head, “Good. Now I’m freezing, and worried for Spencer. He’s been stuck in there with Kevin and your brother for like half an hour, now.”

“Oh, he’s fine,” Jack said, opening the door and letting Sam head in first, “last I checked Cas was regaling him with tales from his golden years, and Kevin was quizzing him on psycho-analytical jargon.”

Walking into the warmth of the apartment, Spencer caught Sam’s eye instantly. Not because he looked like he needed a rescue, or like he was unhappy and wanted to leave. No, just the opposite, Spencer looked so comfortable, nestled on the couch and deep in conversation with Castiel that Sam was almost unwilling to interrupt him.

Almost.

“Sorry about that,” Sam said, announcing his presence as he took the empty seat next to Spencer, “What did I miss?”

“No worries,” Cas said, his Cheshire cat grin sending Sam’s nerves into high alert, “I’ve been keeping Spencer occupied.”

“How?” Sam asked, and Spencer shifted slightly to the right, revealing the stack of photo albums that had been previously hidden from Sam’s line of sight. “Oh, Jack is gonna _kill you_ ,” Sam chuckled, reaching over Spencer’s lap and picking up the topmost album, open to a page plastered corner to corner with embarrassing baby pictures, “Cas, this is probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, and that’s saying something.”

“No,” Cas vehemently denied, still grinning mischievously as he leaned across Spencer’s lap, flipping through the photo album, “he was an adorable baby. He was noisy, stinky, and refused to sleep, but he was freaking cute. That’s probably the only reason I didn’t chuck him out the window some nights.” Spencer burst out into surprised laughter, and Cas’ smile only grew wider, “Seriously! Sleep training him was just _excruciating._ I was only seventeen, and he would scream so hard that I would just lay in bed sobbing along with him for hours until he fell asleep. So, every morning after I’d go into his room ready for a bloodbath, exhausted and seething, but there he was, happy as a pig in shit, wide awake and adorable, and I just couldn’t be mad at him.” He sighed, “Man, he was cute.”

As though he’d been summoned, Jack walked into the living room and froze in the door way, his eyes widening as he asked, “Are those my baby pictures?”

“No!” Cas said, grabbing the album from Sam and snapping it shut. He looked scandalized at the accusation, staring wide-eyed at his little brother as he held the album to his chest, but Jack just stared back, unconvinced. “Okay, yes,” Cas relented, shoving them all back under the coffee table when Jack groaned, “but you know better than to leave me alone with a new guest for too long! I have zero self-control.”

“It’s not his fault,” Spencer spoke up, coming to Castiel’s rescue, though he definitely didn’t deserve it, “I saw the albums under the table and I asked if I could see them.”

“Exactly, and I couldn’t tell him no,” Cas added, “that would have been rude.”

“Don’t make Spencer cover for you!”

“I didn’t make him, he offered!”

“Oh my god,” Sam said, dropping his head into his hands before looking balefully up at Spencer, “This is going to go on for a while. Want to get out of here?”

“Yes please,” Spencer said without missing a beat.

Sam grabbed him by the hand and hauled him off the couch, pausing only to let Spencer grab the half empty wine bottle off the table before he was tugging him down the hall. Cas and Jack paused in their argument long enough to shout “goodnight” after them, but they quickly picked it back up again, bickering like an old married couple.

As they passed the bathroom, the door opened to a billowing cloud of steam as Kevin poked his head out and asked, “Are you two heading in?”

“I think so,” Sam said, and Spencer nodded.

“Good night then,” Kevin said, waving to Spencer in lieu of a handshake, “I was nice meeting you, and don’t be a stranger! I know Cas is batshit insane, but the rest of us are harmless.”

“It was nice meeting you, too,” Spencer said with a smile, “thanks for having me over.”

“Anytime,” Kevin told him, gesturing over his shoulder into the bathroom, “now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a night shift to get to.”

“Have fun,” Sam said, chuckling as Kevin rolled his eyes. Pointing Spencer towards his room, Sam waited until he thought he was out of earshot before whispering to Kevin, “Thanks for covering for me.”

“That was all Cas.” Shuffling awkwardly in the half open doorway, Kevin looked down at his feet as he spoke, “It’s probably not a conversation you want to have, but if things are getting serious between you, which it seems like they are, then you’re going to need to give some real thought as to how you’re going to handle the ‘my brother is a wanted man’ thing. You can’t keep hiding from him forever, he’s a federal agent. Besides, its not fair to him.”

“I know,” Sam murmured, gnawing at his lower lip as he glanced over his shoulder, making sure Spencer hadn’t joined them in the hall again, “I know, I just need a little more time. I need to tell him about my dad before I can even think about getting to Dean.”

“The longer you put it off, the worse this conversation is going to be.”

“ _I know_.” Sam looked at him with upturned eyes, and Kevin relented, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Have a good night Sam,” he said, closing the door as he wished him, “Merry Christmas.”

Well, Sam mused, that was a bummer.

But unfortunately, he was right.

Stepping into his bedroom, Sam found Spencer standing at his desk, flipping through the copy of _Love in the Time of Cholera_ he’d sent Sam during the last legs of his internship. The room was dark, and without his glasses Spencer was forced to huddle by the window, squinting his eyes as he attempted to read by moonlight. “You’re going to get wrinkles doing that,” Sam said softly, not bothering to turn on the light. He was too enraptured by the hazy glow that shone through the window, dancing across Spencer’s cheeks.

Snapping the book shut and dropping it to the desk, Spencer smiled at him, his honey-colored eyes warm as he stepped closer, “I think it’s a little late for that, I’ve been reading in the dark ever since I was a boy.” He flattened both of his palms against Sam’s chest, toying his fingers around the button of his breast pocket, putting just enough pressure behind his touch that Sam could feel his intent through his shirt. “I had a really good time tonight,” Spencer added breathily, leaning in close as Sam reflexively gripped his hips, unable to resist sliding his hands up Spencer’s sides, feeling the warmth of his skin radiating through his clothes.

“We didn’t scare you off?” Sam asked, tugging Spencer forwards and closing the distance between them. He leaned down to kiss the tip of his nose, dodging out of the way with a grin when Spencer attempted to catch him in a kiss.

Pouting until Sam relented, Spencer slipped a hand up and around Sam’s neck, holding him close as he kissed him languorously, his chest hitching, breath quickening. His lips parted, moulding sweetly against Sam’s as he moved together, their kisses deepening. When he pulled back Sam was reluctant to let him, holding him tight against his chest so he wouldn’t go far, and Spencer laughed lightly, brushing their noses together, saying, “Not a chance. Your friends are lovely, as are you. This was one of the best Christmases I’ve had to date.”

“Now I’m sure you’re just telling me what I want to hear,” Sam murmured against his lips, swallowing the low moan that rumbled from Spencer’s throat. He followed it to its source, kissing along the bolt of his jaw, down the side of his throat and groaning as Spencer reached up to tangle his fingers in his hair, tipping his head back with a contented sigh. Arousal churned low in his stomach, warming its way through his veins, and Sam wanted (god how he wanted) nothing more than to peel away each layer of clothing from Spencer’s body, to lay him down in his bed and make love to him, to feel his arms around him, his lily-white skin pressed up against his own and his voice in his ear, crying his name.

But Kevin was right.

“Spence, there’s something I need to tell you,” Sam said, putting just enough distance between them that he could look him in the eye.

His change of tone seemed to take Spencer by surprise, and instead of pulling him back in, Spencer frowned, his brow furrowed with concern as he asked, “Right now? Right this second?”

“Yeah, if that’s alright?”

“Sure,” Spencer said, stepping out of Sam’s arms and looking around the room, gesturing to the bed and asking, “Do you mind…?”

“No, of course not, please,” Sam waved him over, but stayed standing as Spencer clambered onto the bed, settling himself against the headboard. He shuffled from side to side, pulling a smile from Sam as he watched Spencer attempt to get comfortable despite the distinct lack of a pillow mountain.

Sitting at the foot of the bed, Sam immediately began picking at his nails. He was nervous, his cheeks heating uncomfortably and his head suddenly feeling too full, throbbing with the threat of an oncoming headache. “Sam,” Spencer said, reaching out and laying a hand on his thigh, “what’s the matter? Did I do something—”

“No,” Sam cut him off, shaking his head to the contrary, “You did nothing wrong, I just need to tell you who I was talking to earlier. The person who called.”

“It wasn’t your foster father? Bobby?”

“Is that what Cas told you?” Spencer nodded, and Sam sighed, placing his hand over Spencer’s and holding him tight, as though he were afraid he might pull away. “No, it wasn’t Bobby, it was—” his voice caught in his throat, cracking nervously as his palms began to sweat, “It was my brother Dean.”

“Oh,” Spencer said, tilting his head to the side, “Why would Cas lie to me? What’s wrong with your brother calling?”

"I can't-" Sam took a deep breath, closing his eyes in an attempt to collect himself, "I can't tell you all of it."

"That's alright," Spencer told him, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

"It has to do with my dad, and I need you to understand that my brother really is a good person." Sam opened his eyes, still not looking at Spencer, as he said, "My brother is a convicted murderer."

Spencer didn't say anything, good or bad, so Sam pushed on. He had been afraid that he wouldn't be able to say any of this, that he would open his mouth and nothing would come out. But apparently, all he needed was Spencer's comforting presence, a little seclusion and a running count of two, four, six being tapped out covertly on his thigh with his other hand to have the truth spill from his lips uncontrollably. "When we were younger, he got caught up with someone really bad, someone who manipulated and groomed him, and forced him to do things he didn't want to, out of fear for me," he licked his lips, his mouth suddenly too dry, his hands shaking terribly, "and when they were both caught, he was sent to prison."

"Is that where he called you from?" Spencer asked, "Prison?"

Sam shook his head, "No, he called me from a payphone... somewhere." Shifting slightly, turning to face Spencer but unable to meet his gaze, Sam stared down at their joined hands, "He never wanted to hurt anyone, and he only- Jesus, this is going to sound fucked up, but he only murdered one person himself. He helped this other person, this  _really_... really bad guy. A fucking monster. But he only killed one person with his own hands, and it destroyed him. It was what ended up getting the other guy caught- Dean helped turn him in."

Spencer stayed silent, but Sam heard his breathing slow to a crawl, his grip around Sam's hand tightening.

"He was declared mentally unaccountable for his actions, and was given a lesser sentence if he agreed to rehabilitation, and if he testified against this person. He agreed, and was imprisoned from sixteen till he was twenty-four." Sam cleared his throat, rubbing the heel of his palm against his eyes, feeling them welling with tears for the umpteenth time that night, "When he was released at twenty-four, he still had five years on his sentence, but due to being deemed rehabilitated and on the grounds of good behavior, he was released on parole."

"That's wonderful," Spencer said, shifting closer to him, their thighs brushing as he placed his other hand on Sam's knee, asking, "that's great news, isn't it?"

But when Sam huffed humorlessly, he went quiet. 

"He broke parole the very next day," Sam told him, sniffing harshly, "and I haven't seen him since. He calls every now and again, but always from a payphone or a burner, and never tells me where he is. I submitted police reports the first few times, but- he'd stop calling for a while, and honestly, I would rather know he was alive and well than have him drop of the face of the earth like that, you know?"

"I understand," Spencer whispered.

"So," Sam finally looked up at him, and it took every ounce of strength to hold his gaze as Spencer stared back at him blankly, "that's what I needed to tell you. I didn't- I didn't want to lie to you, and I'm sorry that Cas felt like he had to."

"He was just protecting you," Spencer said, biting his lower lip and seemingly debating saying something, before raising his hands and cupping Sam's cheeks in his palms, "thank you for telling me, Sam."

And then... nothing.

He didn't say anything else, and Sam frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he asked, "That's it?" When Spencer shrugged, he exhaled sharply, still not getting it, "I just told you my brother the murderer, who's on the run from the cops, just called to wish me a Merry Christmas, and that's all you have to say?" 

 

“That's it. I knew whatever happened to you in the past was going to be something bad,” Spencer told him, brushing his hair away from his face, “so when you brought up your brother, I think I was prepared for the worst. But this? I’m not trying to diminish anything, I promise, but this is right in my wheelhouse. Dealing with murders, and the people they hurt like your brother, is what I _do_. Learning about him changes nothing…” a flush stole across his cheeks, “I’m just as infatuated with you as I was before. Maybe even more so.”

"Really?" Sam asked, absolutely in awe. 

"Really," Spencer said, adding that, "We're going to need to talk about you just casually fielding calls from him, without filing a report. I am a federal agent, after all."

"I understand."

"But if you're worried that knowing about your brother will make me feel any differently about you, then don't," Spencer smiled softly, "I don't think anything could accomplish that."

Relief crashed over him like a tidal wave, and Sam laughed, smiling broadly. Of all the ways he'd expected this conversation to go, this wasn't one of them. But then again, this was Spencer he was dealing with, and Spencer always managed to throw him for a loop. Ducking in close, Sam kissed his forehead, murmuring, “I think this is probably the best Christmas gift you could have given me."

“What, really?” Spencer asked in mock surprise, “Better than the earplugs?”

Sam answered him with a kiss.

There was still so much to say (there always was), but in that moment, Sam felt that if he didn’t get his hands on him, if he didn’t kiss Spencer within an inch of his life that he would melt away, subsumed by the adoration coursing through him. He’d never felt so accepted, so recognized, so _understood._ Spencer had taken what Sam had told him in stride, and though he didn't know the whole story, Sam was slowly starting to feel confident that Spencer would take the rest of it just as well—as opposed to Ruby who’d destroyed him, Madison who had left him and Jessica, who in her own sweet way, needed to take a break from him.

Spencer responded to his desperation with steadfast tenacity, standing up and pulling Sam along with him, his hands flying to the hem of Sam’s shirt, making quick work of the buttons before shoving it off his shoulders and down his arms, all while devouring his lips with hot, frantic kisses. Parting with a sour grumble when he needed to tug Sam’s tee-shirt over his head, Spencer made due, nipping and licking down the side of Sam’s throat, his fingers dipping divots into his broad shoulders as he pressed them together, chest to chest.

“You’re wearing way too many clothes,” Sam griped, trying to keep his voice to a whisper, well aware they were only a few doors down from Jack and Cas.

Spencer chuckled and bit at the skin of his neck, soothing the sting with his tongue before murmuring, “You should probably do something about that.”

Gripping Spencer by the waist, Sam lifted him effortlessly, turning at the hips and tossing him onto the bed as though he weighed nothing at all. With a gasp, Spencer bounced atop the mattress, settling against the pillows with his hair wreathed around his head, his eyes dark with want. He watched Sam heatedly, tracking every move he made as he tugged Spencer’s socks off his feet, followed quickly by his pants as Spencer worked at ridding himself of his sweater. Not taking his eyes off him for even a second, once Sam had stripped him bare Spencer leaned back against the bed, his arms akimbo on either side of his head, all long limbs and moonlit skin, and Sam’s mouth nearly watered at the sight.

God, he was beautiful, Sam mused as he crawled up Spencer’s naked form, stalking towards him on his hands and knees like a lion after its prey. Trailing wet, open mouthed kisses along his stomach, his sternum, making his way up the milky white spread of Spencer’s body he was suddenly stopped by one of Spencer’s hands against his chest, pushing forward and guiding Sam onto his knees. He went without protest, though he was aching to press forwards, to pin Spencer against the bed and feel his bare skin shift against his, and Spencer followed.

Sitting in front of him, his thighs spread sumptuously around Sam’s, his mouth hovering just above the waistband of Sam’s jeans, Spencer glanced up at him coyly. His hair fell across his face, shuttering him from Sam’s view save for his darkened eyes. Licking his lips, Spencer caught and held his gaze, dipping his fingers beneath the waist of Sam’s jeans, dragging forwards and down as he ghosted his knuckles against Sam’s abdomen, the first button of his fly popping open. Muscles jumping under his skin at Spencer’s feather light touch, Sam stared helplessly down at him, brushing Spencer’s hair back from his face so he could take all of him in as Spencer popped open each subsequent button, one by one and painfully slow.

His eyes fluttering shut, Spencer leaned forwards, dragging his lips across the coarse trail of light brown hair leading down Sam’s abdomen and distracting him with soft kisses as he pulled Sam’s erect cock from the confines of his jeans. Sam gasped, bucking into Spencer’s fist as he closed his hand around him, chin bumping against the head of his dick as Spencer teasingly nipped at the skin of his hips, slowly stoking the engorged flesh in his hand. Gripping his hair reflexively, Sam pulled a little too hard on his fistful of silken tresses and was about to murmur an apology, when Spencer dropped his forehead against Sam’s hip, the steady rhythm of his hand faltering as he whimpered.

 _Oh_ , Sam mused as he stroked Spencer’s scalp soothingly. _He likes having his hair pulled_. To test his hypothesis, Sam buried his fingers to the root in Spencer’s soft curls, and when Spencer gave him another of those maddeningly chaste kisses just shy of where he really wanted him, he yanked his head back, his cock twitching at the obscene moan it tore from Spencer’s throat.

“Shh,” Sam said softly, still holding him tightly by the hair as he ran his free hand down Spencer’s cheek. He traced his fingertips over Spencer’s lush lips before dipping two inside, his toes curling when Spencer sealed his lips around them, sucking them into his mouth and laving at them with his tongue. “Cas and Jack are just down the hall,” he whispered, his voice rough and distracted as he pumped his fingers between Spencer’s lips, feeling the sweet give and take of his hot, wet mouth and losing himself in the intensity of his heavy-lidded eyes, “we’re gonna need to keep quiet.”

Releasing Sam’s fingers with a wet pop, Spencer nodded as best he could with Sam’s hand still knotted in his hair, his neck arched backwards as he watched Sam intently. Sliding his hands up Sam’s thigh’s, he shoved his jeans down as far as he could get them before tugging gently at Sam’s hips, urging him closer until Sam’s cock ghosted across his cheek. He nuzzled into it, caressing Sam’s thighs as he kissed up the shaft, closing his lips around the head and humming contentedly when Sam gripped him even tighter.

It had taken Spencer two attempts to completely hammer out how to suck Sam’s brain out through his cock. Since then, every time he managed to get his lips around him, he threw himself into the task with practised ease, such otherworldly passion and precision that it wouldn’t surprise Sam in the slightest if he were going through a mental checklist of what Sam liked and didn’t. It didn’t hurt he looked immaculate doing it, either, his brow furrowed in concentration, his long lashes fluttering against the heights of his cheeks and his plump, swollen lips wrapped tightly around Sam’s shaft. With Sam’s hand controlling how far he could move, there wasn’t much he could do, but Spencer still managed to blow his mind, hollowing his cheeks and flattening his tongue against the underside of his cock, forcing Sam to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out.

And then Spencer laid a hand over Sam’s in his hair at the same time he glanced up at him, a lewd vision with Sam’s cock in his mouth and his cheeks flushed bright red, and _pushed_ , taking Sam deeper into his throat with the motion of their hands. Sam whimpered pitifully and Spencer tightened his grip over Sam’s hand, pulling backwards and sliding back up his shaft, leaving a trail of saliva glimmering in his wake and looked up at Sam with an arched brow.

Oh god, Sam realized, his hips twitching forwards of their own volition when he got the memo, Spencer’s eyes slipping closed as he groaned rapturously around his mouthful. He wanted him to fuck his mouth. His thighs shuddered in restraint, and he asked, “Are you sure?”

Spencer nodded, again as best he could, and sucked him, _hard_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sam hissed through clenched teeth, and he gave an abortive little thrust, not wanting to go further than Spencer was capable. But Spencer grip around his hand tightened and he moaned, the slip-slide of his lips over Sam’s cock at once overwhelming and not nearly enough, and Sam tugged him forward again, the swollen head of his cock nudging against the back of his throat.

Spencer immediately gripped his hips, not to stop Sam but to steady himself, to pull Sam closer whenever he thrust into his mouth, to keep him from straying too far when he pulled out. Every time Sam gripped his hair a little tighter he mewled in delight, his fingernails digging into Sam’s skin and he couldn’t help but pick up the pace, holding Spencer’s head still now as he thrust between his lips, watching his cock disappear into Spencer’s beautiful mouth with a lascivious sense of need.

But much too soon, Sam could feel himself coiling tighter, heat churning in his belly and he pulled out completely, Spencer’s eye’s snapping open as he looked up at him, hazy with arousal. “What do you want?” Sam asked, gripping the base of his cock and rubbing it against Spencer’s spit-soaked lips, smearing precome that was beading at the head, “Do you want me to come in your mouth?”

Spencer shook his head, “No.”

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” Spencer whispered wantonly, dropping a hand between his legs to stroke his aching, neglected length, his breath shuddering at the first pass of his loosely curled first. “Yes, Sam,” he darted out his tongue and lapped at Sam’s cock, pressing a chaste kiss to the head as he asked, “please fuck me?”

Sam groaned, finally releasing his grip on Spencer’s hair and ducking down to kiss him, sucking his full lower lip between his teeth and caressing his cheeks with his thumbs. He hadn’t even touched him, yet Spencer was so turned on just from sucking his dick that he was desperately hard, stroking his own cock and begging Sam to fuck him. “I swear to god Spence, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured earnestly, smiling as Spencer laughed, seemingly pleased by the notion, “Lay down?”

He didn’t need to ask twice. Spencer pulled away as soon as he was able, crawling up the bed and laying on his stomach. Grabbing a pillow and making himself comfortable, he glanced coquettishly over his shoulder at Sam and wiggled his hips, grinning when Sam reached out to give him a light smack on the ass and was unable to resist squeezing a handful while he was there. “I can’t help it if you’re incorrigible,” he said, tapering off into a gasp as Sam flattened himself on top of him, pressing him into the mattress as he grinded against his ass, “ _Sam_.”

The way he said his name, half exasperated, half frantic shot through his like a thousand volts, and Sam pushed up onto his elbows, groping around in his bedside table as he blindly searched for a condom and some lube. It didn’t help he was distracting himself by nibbling along Spencer’s softly sloping shoulder, but it was right there, bare and unblemished and he couldn’t help but mark it up, sucking bruises into his pale skin until his fingers finally bumped up against what he was looking for.

“ _Finally_ ,” Spencer moaned, his voice muffled by the pillow as Sam slipped one well lubed finger down the cleft of his ass, sliding smoothly inside him, up to the knuckle. This would only be the third time they’d done this, Sam’s brain helpfully supplied, but Spencer was already bearing down against the intrusion, so keyed up that he was canting his hips back against Sam’s finger after mere moments. “More,” he begged, and Sam obliged, pulling his finger out and joining it with another on the next thrust in.

This seemed to be going far too quickly, Spencer opening up to him almost immediately, his whole body arching taut like a bow as Sam grazed his prostate. His whimpers were smothered in the pillow he had clenched between his teeth, and he could hardly keep his hips still, jerking back and forth between Sam’s fingers inside of him and the delicious friction of the sheet against his cock. “More, please,” he panted, and Sam scissored his fingers, kissing up his spine in an attempt to soothe him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sam said, kissing him softly behind his ear and lingering, nuzzling his nose against Spencer’s hairline, “It’s been a long time, we need to go slow.”

“You won’t,” Spencer grumbled, bucking backwards against him, “I’m good, before I came over, I—”

Stopping midsentence, Spencer froze. He’d certainly not meant to say that, but the implication was there and went right to Sam’s cock, which was throbbing insistently against Spencer’s hip. “What?” Sam asked, stilling his fingers but leaving them right where they were, pressed in to the hilt and hushing Spencer when he groaned in frustration, “Before you came over you… what?” When Spencer only blushed harder and buried his face in the pillow, Sam took a shot in the dark, “Spencer, did you finger yourself?”

“Yes,” Spencer said, raising his head up from the pillow and looking equal parts humiliated and turned on, “in the shower.”

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Sam moaned, sliding his fingers out and lubing them up a bit more, pressing in with three next time and huffing in surprise when he realized that, yeah, Spencer _had_ done this recently, this _had_ been far too easy, “did you touch yourself?”

Crooking his brow and shooting him an incredulous look, Spencer said, “I think that’s pretty much implied.”

“You know what I mean,” Sam said, thrusting in with his fingers with a little more abandon, loving the easy slide into Spencer’s tight, hot body, “Did you jerk off?”

“Yes,” Spencer nodded, grinding his hips back against Sam’s fist as he zeroed in on his prostate, his thighs shuddering each time Sam grazed it, “God, Sam, _please!”_

“Hush.” Sam kissed his shoulder as he slowly pulled his fingers free, grabbing the condom and sitting up on his knees in one smooth motion before tearing the packet open with his teeth. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?” he asked roughly, spreading Spencer’s thighs with his knees and lining up, watching Spencer’s back curve beautifully as Sam lined up and pressed forwards, the head of his cock sinking inside of him, pulled into his tight, wet heat.

Glancing over his shoulder, his gaze burning with intensity, Spencer locked eyes with Sam as he slid inside, pressing forwards until his hips were flush to Spencer’s ass, his breath coming in shallow pants. “So you’ve told me,” Spencer murmured, kissing Sam’s sweaty temple softly as he dropped his forehead to Spencer’s shoulder, lowering onto his elbows and blanketing Spencer’s slighter form with his own.

Sam needed to shut his eyes and collect himself, his cock throbbing against the clutching sheath of Spencer’s body. Not for the first time was Sam hyper aware of the size disparity between them. Spencer was so much smaller than him, so thin and willowy, and Sam wanted more than anything to be cautious. He refused to drop his full weight against him, to pin him to the bed with his entire body and sink as deep as he could, no matter how badly he wanted to. This was only their third time together, they were still figuring each other out and he couldn’t just _take…_ but Spencer (as usual) had other plans.

With a cheeky grin, Spencer bucked against his intrusion, throwing his head back against Sam’s shoulder with a silent cry. His eyes slipped shut, his expression crumpling in pleasure as he forced Sam deeper, spreading himself open on Sam’s cock, punching a surprised groan from Sam’s chest. Before he could help himself, Sam was rolling his hips forwards, pressing himself against Spencer’s back and forcing the younger man deeper into the mattress.

Cursing, murmuring an apology Sam tried to rise back up onto his elbows, but Spencer clicked his tongue in admonishment. “I’m not going to break,” he said, pulling one of Sam’s hands away from the bed, untangling his fingers from the sheets and encouraging him to wrap his arm tightly around Spencer’s ribs, “Come on, Sam. _Harder_.”

Fuck, how was he supposed to say no to that? One arm strapped across Spencer’s chest, the other pinning Spencer’s hips to the bed, Sam dropped his chest to Spencer’s back, immobilizing him from the waist up with the brunt of his weight. Pulling out almost all the way, Spencer’s muscles fluttering around the head of his cock, Sam snapped his hips forwards, plunging into him so forcefully that the clap of Spencer’s ass against his thighs echoed in the near silence of his bedroom, undercut by Spencer’s ragged cry that he smothered into the pillow.

Panting, Sam struggled to keep quiet, a herculean task when Spencer was writhing underneath him, meeting each powerful thrust with a backwards cant of his hips, his muscles quivering under Sam’s touch. The bed shifted forwards, the headboard creaking rhythmically as Sam rose to his knees, his hands sliding over Spencer’s taut back, his sweat-slick skin and gripping his hips tightly Sam pulled him up as well, Spencer’s thighs shuddering to keep himself aloft as Sam kept up his punishing pace.

His face half mashed into the pillow, Spencer’s eyes were clenched shut, his eyebrows tented and the pillowcase was caught between his teeth in an attempt to smother the sharp moans Sam punched out of him with each thrust. Arched downwards onto the bed, his ass held high in Sam’s punishing grip, that lovely blush was spreading down from his cheeks, rising to the surface of his neck and shoulders with exertion, and on a particularly deep thrust his arms shot out, gripping the headboard and holding on for dear life. He was an absolute vision, trembling to hold himself steady but still meeting Sam’s thrusts without fail, grinding his hips in small circles every time Sam buried himself to the hilt.

Clumsily moving his hands from Spencer’s hips to his ass, Sam grabbed a handful of each cheek, his rhythm faltering for a second, a jolt of hot pleasure searing through him as he watched himself sink between Spencer’s cheeks. God, he’d never been one to _watch_ before, but this had to be his new favorite position, the sight of his thick cock, rock hard and flushed red, disappearing into Spencer’s pliant body went right to his head. Arousal stirred in his brain like a fog as he spread Spencer’s cheeks wider, entranced by the way Spencer’s rim clung to him greedily every time he pulled out, pulsing around him hungrily when he drove inside.

More out of a brainless sense of curiosity than any real intent, Sam slid his fingers down the cleft of Spencer’s ass, running the pad of his thumb against the stretched pink rim, groaning when Spencer clamped down around him, the pillow doing nothing to smother his cries as they rose to a fever pitch. “Sam, please,” Spencer whimpered, his lithe frame shaking as he looked over his shoulder, his eyes barely open but burning with need, “please touch me, I-I can’t, I need—”

His voice cracked, tapering off into a sobbing moan as Sam grabbed him under his chest, helping him up onto his knees, his back resting against Sam’s chest. His legs spread obscenely wide on either side of Sam’s knees, he settled onto the tops of Sam’s thighs, his fingers digging into Sam’s arms that were wrapped securely around his waist. “I’ve got you,” Sam murmured, hushing him gently as he sat back of his haunches, thrusting up into the spread of his thighs at the same time as he wrapped a hand around Spencer’s cock.

Spencer threw his head back, gasping noiselessly towards the ceiling as Sam stroked him firmly in counterpoint to his thrusts, nailing his prostate on every inward dive, a near constant stream of precome dribbling from his achingly hard dick. He writhed in his hold, his body overheating and clenching down hard every time Sam grazed the head of his cock with his thumb. “Fuck,” he breathed, tangling one hand in Sam’s hair, turning his head so he could kiss him messily, his lips uncoordinated but eager as he panted his pleasure, his supple form coiling tighter, shuddering until finally he broke, biting down onto Sam’s lower lip to drown his high-pitched wail, splattering the sheets and coating Sam’s fist with his cum.

Stroking him through his orgasm, Sam pitched forwards, holding himself up on one elbow and curling over Spencer’s back as he chased his own. His thighs were burning with exertion, heat coiling in his belly as his balls tightened, Spencer constricting and unyielding around his cock, and he mouthed along his shoulder, catching his smooth skin between his teeth. He was already so close when Spencer knocked his hand away and shoved it towards the mattress, rolling his hips against Sam’s and forcing him deeper, impaling himself on his cock and suddenly Sam could think of nothing, could feel nothing but that clenching, pulsing heat wrapped around him, pulling him in like quicksand. He throbbed in Spencer’s clutches, his cock pulsing and with two more abortive thrusts he was coming, knocking Spencer’s legs out from under him, pinning his hips to the mattress as he spilled inside him with a ragged cry, the headboard cracking off the drywall in finality.

Spencer panted underneath him, boneless and pliant, his face half buried in the pillow as he tried to catch his breath. Sam’s face was pressed against his shoulder blade, his cock still twitching valiantly inside of Spencer’s spent body, his limbs feeling like limp noodles as he attempted to pull himself up onto his knees. “No,” Spencer grumbled petulantly, grabbing Sam’s hand before he could move it and holding it where it was, slung around Spencer’s waist, “don’t go just yet.”

“You can’t tell me I’m not crushing you,” Sam said, kissing the slope of Spencer’s shoulder softly, his head swimming in his post-orgasm haze, “and I don’t know about you, but I’m a mess.”

With a sigh, Spencer shifted slightly, gasping when Sam shifted inside of him but quickly recovering, maneuvering them until they were laying on their sides, Sam spooning behind him, their legs tangled together over the sheets. “There,” he said, satisfaction dripping from that single word.

“That solves problem number one,” Sam murmured, but made no move to get up. Spencer was warm next to him, his chest rising and falling in a soothing rhythm under Sam’s arm, and he couldn’t bear to leave him just yet. The endorphins flooding his system mingled with his soul reviving relief, and he replayed their earlier conversation over in his head, holding Spencer closer as he remembered his instantaneous acceptance.

He had been so afraid to tell him about his brother. Be it from his experiences with Ruby, to the well-meaning but ultimately damaging questions of co-workers and friends, Sam hadn’t had a single easy instance of confessing any aspect of his past. He understood the curiosity, the fear and the confusion that stemmed from someone admitting their father was a serial killer and their brother his accomplice. He’d experienced everything from revilement to perverse interest, but never had he experience someone’s outright approval. Out of all the reactions he’d expected, Spencer being seemingly unfazed was one that had never even occurred to him, though in retrospect, it probably should have.

Spencer wasn’t like anyone else he’d ever met.

“Hey,” Sam said softly, nudging Spencer in the shoulder when he realized he’d gotten a little too quiet, “don’t fall asleep, we need to get you cleaned up.”

“In a minute,” Spencer mumbled, barely even conscious as he shoved Sam’s hand away, his eyes closed and his cheek smushed against the pillow, “just give me a minute.”

“Okay,” Sam said, kissing Spencer’s shoulder, smiling as he felt the other man relax, his breathing slowing as he quickly fell asleep. He snuffled softly, shifting back against Sam’s body and holding Sam’s arm to his chest like a security blanket, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks and Sam’s heart thumped painfully in his chest, emotion welling in him that he was afraid to give name to just yet.

He could let him sleep for a few moments, it wouldn’t hurt him. And besides, it could give Sam time to compartmentalize, to think. Because even though Spencer knew about his brother now, they still had so much to talk about. He needed to explain why he couldn't turn Dean in, and that he does more than just field his brothers calls. He hadn’t even mentioned the salt or the devil’s traps, and he had no idea how to even begin talking about his father. But that could be a conversation for another night, and it was one he wasn’t as afraid to have anymore.

Spencer found out about his brother, and he was still there.

That was enough for now.

Not wanting to get his hopes too high but finding himself completely unable to as he stared in awe at this wonderful man in his arms, Sam kissed his cheek and murmured, “I love you, Spencer.”

Spencer shifted sleepily as he grumbled, “What?”

“Merry Christmas,” Sam quickly amended, burying his face in Spencer’s neck.

**Author's Note:**

> So sorry for the delay! I got a bunch of assignments at work that unfortunately took precedent (damn real life getting in the way of my fan-ficing!), but here is the first chapter of this installment! I hope you enjoy :)


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